


Ball & Chain

by quills_at_dawn



Series: Witcher Shorts [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Chaperon, Frenemies, Gen, Handcuffed Together, M/M, Nemesis - Freeform, What is the point of fic if not to torture Vernon Roche?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 05:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/pseuds/quills_at_dawn
Summary: Roche and Iorveth are captured and handcuffed together.





	Ball & Chain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zemyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zemyr/gifts).

> Vaguely post Blood & Wine. 
> 
> Fills the Trope Bingo Square: Handcuffed/Bound Together
> 
> Enjoy!

**BALL & CHAIN**

As the cage door clanged shut behind them, Iorveth and Roche glared at each other. 

“This is your fault!” Iorveth hissed.

“How is this my fault?” Roche defended. 

“Quiet in there!” one of the bandits banged on the iron bars, “Don’t worry, Your Highness, we’ll let you go just as soon as we get the ransom.” 

“It’s ‘Your Majesty’,” Roche informed him, “And I am not the emperor.” 

“Yeah well, you would say that now, wouldn’t you?” the huge brute nodded wisely, then turned to Iorveth, “And I bet you’re worth a pretty floren too. I’d expected a prettier elf but I suppose anything goes when you’re an elf fancier.” 

“An elf fancier?” Iorveth echoed in surprise. 

“A prettier elf?!” Roche spat out, indignant. 

“Well, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” the bandit said, squinting at Iorveth, “But I would have picked one less scarred.” 

And with that, the largest of their captors lumbered off. 

“When we get out of here we’ll show you scarred,” Roche grumbled darkly as he watched the receding figure. 

“See?” Iorveth seethed, “How many ploughing times did I tell you not to give your name as ‘Emhyr var Emreis’?!” 

“Oh come on! What kind of idiot would believe it?!” 

“_ Those _ idiots,” Iorveth said, trying to jerk this thumb at the handful of bandits sitting around a nearby fire. 

Only he was prevented by the heavy manacle around his wrist and whose companion was around one of Roche’s. 

Disgusted at this further reminder of their predicament, Iorveth turned his back to Roche in a huff and tried to huddle in the opposite corner, but was again prevented by the shortness of the chain that bound them. 

“This is your fault!” he hissed again, settling next to Roche, “Fix it!” 

And with that he turned his back on him. 

It probably was his fault, Roche reflected as evening fell and he felt Iorveth start to shiver beside him. If it hadn’t been for him, Iorveth wouldn’t be here. 

Yennefer had contacted him, mildly concerned that she had not been able to get in touch with Geralt at Corvo Bianco for weeks and hoping that Roche would pop down to check on him — she’d even offered to open a portal for him. 

So Roche had trekked over to look for Iorveth, the only other person he could think of who cared about Geralt as much as he did and after a few sarcastic comments, Iorveth had agreed to go with him and they’d been portalled over into Toussaint. 

Only the portal had dumped them just this side of the Yaruga, nowhere near Corvo Bianco or even the capital, Beauclair, so they were making their way along the Sansretour through the duchy’s picturesque, bandit-ridden highlands, sleeping in or under trees or in flea-infested inns. 

This was a new low, Roche decided as he considered the cage they’d been thrown into and that still vaguely smelled of the various beasts it had held over the years. Not just the cage, but they were bound to each other like a poor man’s, more efficient version of a ball and chain. 

The cage's joints were rusting, sure, but not nearly weakened enough that it could be persuaded to yield. Not without attracting attention anyway. 

He felt another shiver shake Iorveth’s body. 

“Hey! A blanket for the emperor’s elf!” he barked out. 

“In a minute, Your Highness!” the men laughed and went back to their dinner. 

Roche suppressed a shiver of his own as he unwound the chaperon on his head, grateful for the residual warmth of the skullcap beneath it, and wrapped it around Iorveth’s shoulders. 

“We’ll have to take our chances when they come to give us food or the blanket or whatever,” he murmured discreetly into the elf’s long ear, “Or I can try to force one of the hinges while they’re sleeping.” 

Iorveth grunted and huddled into a tighter ball. 

“This is still all your fault.” 

“At least I’m trying! Unless you think that sitting there like a lump of lard will—!” 

He stopped and they watched, poleaxed, as a pack of wolves descended onto the camp and began to savage the bandits. Shouts, a mad run for weapons that were slightly out of reach, a few minutes of pandemonium and then the wolves were dragging their fare away. 

“I thought the fire was supposed to keep wolves away,” Roche said conversationally into the ensuing silence, “Did you do that?” 

“Get the wolves to attack? No, Roche, what do you think I am?!” 

Bracing himself against one side of the cage, Roche put his feet up against the door, gave a heave and the hinges creaked and finally gave way. 

He started to haul himself out when the dead weight on his wrist held him back. 

“Oh for the love of Melitele's tits…” 

“Roche, let’s just get out of here. The wolves!” 

They scurried across the camp, pausing only to recover their weapons and a blanket, then ran off through the woods as quickly as they could while hampered by the manacles. 

* * *

Even if he hadn’t been chained to the elf, Roche would have been following close behind Iorveth. He was grimly aware that his night vision and sense of direction weren’t anything like as good and he was more annoyed than ever at not being able to accurately navigate by the stars. 

Ahead of him, Iorveth stopped suddenly. 

“What is it? More wolves?” 

“I need to go.” 

“Go where?” Roche frowned at the darkness. 

Iorveth made a sound of impatience and started to pull up the skirts of his gambeson tunic and mail shirt. 

“Wait, wait, what are you doing?” Roche demanded, pulling his own hand back. 

“I need to go!” Iorveth repeated, giving the chain a sharp tug. 

“Wait! I don’t want to touch anything, you know, _ down there _!” 

“Then don’t!” Iorveth snapped then nearly jumped when the back of Roche’s hand brushed along the inside of his thigh, “Keep your hand to yourself, dammit!” 

“I’m trying!” Roche retorted through gritted teeth, not sure which way to twist his hand to keep it from touching anything. 

He turned away in the darkness when he heard a tinkle. 

“What about you? Do you need to go?” Iorveth asked a little less gruffly once he was done. 

Roche did need to go. The sound of Iorveth’s release had reminded him that he hadn’t had his in a while. 

“Fine!” he finally ground out like he was doing Iorveth a favour. 

He fumbled with his long chainmail, the unyielding leather of his gambeson, then struggled with his trouser laces. 

“Want a hand? We’ll get eaten by wolves if you don’t hurry,” Iorveth’s disembodied drawl offered. 

“Quiet, elf,” Roche snarled as he felt his innards constrict. 

“Are you going to go or not?” Iorveth pressed impatiently. 

“You’re making it worse!” Roche snapped, “Look away!” 

“How do you know I’m looking?” 

Real curiosity. 

“I can feel it, you bastard.” 

Iorveth hummed, the sound travelling in an arc. 

A moment more and finally Roche was able to let go. 

Another struggle as he readjusted his layers and then they were off. 

Finally, they came upon a clearing. Iorveth stopped short again, wound the length of clinking chain around his wrist and gripped Roche’s hand, turning to the shocked human and holding a finger to his lips, stark and wraithlike in the moonlight. 

They stepped in cautiously then looked around. 

“We should find a place to rest,” Roche said, eyeing a dilapidated hunting blind. 

“That should be a safe spot,” Iorveth agreed, looking up at a couple of wide forks in the branches of an old oak, “Shall I go up first?” 

“Up?” Roche frowned, then followed the elf’s gaze, “Are you out of your mind?! I couldn’t get up there even with the use of both my hands!” 

“Not exactly something to brag about. Come on, I’ll help you.” 

“Iorveth, no.” 

“Have you forgotten the wolves?” 

Roche scowled. 

“Fine. But remember that until we take these damned things off, if I fall and break my neck, I’ll be taking you with me.” 

* * *

“Roche,” Iorveth whispered between clenched teeth, “How many ploughing times do I have to tell you to keep the weight of the metal off my wrist?” 

Roche shifted position gingerly, trying not to look down as he maneuvered himself closer to the elf and further from the safety of the tree trunk and the branch’s base. 

He held his wrist and he chain aloft obediently, watched Iorveth take aim and wait, so still he must have stopped breathing, before loosing the arrow. 

The rabbit fell over dead. 

They started to climb down the tree then fell most of the way, landing in a tangled pile, when Roche lost his footing. 

“I hate you so much,” Iorveth said without heat, flat on his back and staring up at the sky. 

“We’re doing it for Geralt,” Roche reminded, trying to sit up and groaning at the ache where he’d half landed on his morning star. 

“We’re doing it for Geralt,” Iorveth repeated, picking himself up and giving Roche a hand up. 

He retrieved the spitted rabbit and looked it over. 

“Not my best shot.” 

He set about preparing the rabbit while Roche found a flint and started a fire by striking sparks off their iron manacles. 

“How are we going to get rid of these?” 

“We’ll have to find a blacksmith.” 

“You think a blacksmith would do it? I heard the Toussaintois are very law abiding. They’ll probably think we’re escaped prisoners.” 

* * *

The blacksmith who walked in on them in his forge did take them for criminals and was throwing rocks and insults at them long after they’d disappeared from sight at a gallop on the back of a destrier he’d just reshoed. 

“We’re really criminals now,” Iorveth grumbled sleepily that evening, his head falling back against Roche’s shoulder as the horse plodded along. 

“I’m sure Geralt can get things straightened out. Says the Duchess owes him a favour.” 

Roche wound the chain they hadn’t had the time to break around his wrist and held the reins while Iorveth slept against him, trying to ignore the feeling of the elf’s entire body pressed against him, especially between his thighs. 

He nodded at a vintner coming the other way down the road with a cartful of wine bottles for market, ignoring the strange look he got. 

The blanket hid the manacles but that still left him astride a war horse with a sleeping elf in his arms. 

At first they’d kept off the roads to avoid just this sort of situation, but their charger wasn’t used to the woods, it wasn’t nimble enough to move easily between the trees and startled at every hoot. 

So they’d given that up, deciding instead to keep off the roads during the busy hours, sleeping then and and riding on through most of the night, too exhausted, in truth, to really care what people thought or even if they were caught. 

Shame to be caught now though. According to the signposts, they couldn’t be more than another day’s ride away. 

Roche spied a disused cowshed and directed the charger there. 

“Come on, Iorveth, I’ve found a place we can sleep.” 

He would have carried the elf in if the manacles hadn’t made that impossible. He helped Iorveth down onto a meagre pile of hay that would have to serve as a litter, lay down beside him, pulled him close and tucked the blanket in around both of them. 

Ves would have laughed herself sick if she’d seen them like this, but after days on the run together, he and Iorveth had suffered indignities of intimacy that even married couples were spared, and were probably a day away from holding each other’s cocks when they pissed. 

Roche sighed into Iorveth’s hair. 

It probably was his fault. As incredible as it was that anyone could have mistaken special forces and Scoia’tael commanders for the emperor of Nilfgaard and his elven companion, he’d been tempting fate for years by giving his identity as Emhyr var Emreis, spice merchant. 

And he’d never thanked Iorveth either. Sure, they were doing it for Geralt, but still, Iorveth could have left him to go alone. Instead, not only had Iorveth agreed to go with him, he’d also rather heroically made the best of a bad job. For days they’d been stuck traipsing through the forest, and Iorveth had guided them and ensured they were kept reasonably fed, watered, sheltered and they hadn’t been eaten by wolves even once. But the elf was worn with sleeping rough and eating roots and rabbits, and likely too, Roche recognised, with the mental and physical weight of having had to drag him around like a ball and chain. 

And he’d never even once thanked him. 

“Are you hungry?” Iorveth murmured, stirring in his arms. 

“I’ll live. Listen, Iorveth, I wanted to say—.” 

He stopped short, poleaxed, when Iorveth put a hand over his mouth and signalled him to be quiet. 

The elf was attentive, an ear twitching slightly, and soon Roche heard it too, the hushed stillness and unnatural silence. 

“Come out, we have you surrounded,” a deep voice warned in clipped Nilfgaardian tones. 

Roche and Iorveth crept to the nearest window and looked out. 

They were, indeed, surrounded. By heavily armoured soldiers from the elite Alba and Impera divisions. 

Roche took Iorveth’s hand and raised it and they walked out with their hands held above their heads. 

“The horse is tied up round the back. We’re sorry we took it.” 

A familiar figure pushed his way through the line of soldiers. 

“Geralt?” Roche accused, staring, “Where have you been? Yen’s been out of her mind!” 

“Spoke to her yesterday, Roche, she was mildly curious at best,” Geralt shrugged, “Was away for a wine fair, just got back a few days ago. Emhyr hired me to track down the bandits and their captives.” 

“Emhyr?” 

Some of the soldiers stood aside to reveal the emperor of Nilfgaard himself. 

“The Duchess received news that I’d been captured by bandits, closely followed by a ransom note. We suspected that was not the case but even so,” Emhyr paused, looking over the bedraggled pair, “This is a surprise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
